Death Eater Tea Party
by SihayaFaulkner
Summary: Voldemort is defeated and the world is saved, leaving Severus and the boys time to unwind. But what happens when Hermione finds out just what they've been up to?
1. Part 1

Usual disclaimers: I am not JKR. I would have written 7 books on the Slytherins as they are far sexier.

* * *

**Part 1**

How could he have possibly let this slip?

If he were any sort of self-respecting Slytherin he wouldn't have admitted these sorts of things in his post-coital euphoric haze. Then he wouldn't have gotten himself into this situation.

Stupid robes. Stupid Lucius. Stupid hormones.

It was a good thing he had been miserably celibate during the war, or else the outcome could have been quite different. A quick flash of skin would have been all it would have taken for him to sell out the Order.

No, no, this was no good. A Slytherin never admitted culpability unless they were going to be adequately compensated: Sex, amnesty, more sex; any of these were acceptable.

Better to blame Lucius. Lucius and his fashion sense.

Yes, that was much better. Now the fault lay elsewhere.

_He_ was most certainly not responsible for what had transpired simply because Hermione had buttered him up in bed.

"Severus?" she had said one night after he had settled into a comfortable position against her breasts. They were very nice breasts, and he hadn't been thinking of much more than that at the time she had begun her inquisition.

"Hmm?"

"What are those robes you keep in the back of your wardrobe?"

Lovely breasts really. Very pert and the owner didn't object to him using them as pillows.

"Death Eater's," he had mumbled as he rubbed his cheek back and forth against her soft skin.

"Not those – although we'll be having a conversation about why you still have them later – I meant the dress robes with the smart embroidery."

His lust-fogged brain hadn't contemplated the implications of answering the question at the time.

"Tea party robes." Her fingers had been rubbing gentle circles into his scalp. That was really rather pleasant and he had been tuckered out. He needed his rest. Nubile girlfriends twenty years one's junior tended to take a lot out of a man. Hopefully, Hermione didn't mind if he stayed where he was a while longer.

He had fallen asleep without seeing the perplexed, calculating look on Hermione's face.

The ensuing argument the following day had been decidedly less pleasant.

"What are you doing spending every Tuesday night with a man who religiously plotted the deaths of all Muggles and Muggle-borns?"

He thought he had done well in covering his wince. There was no point in questioning how she found out about Lucius' little soirées – she had an underhanded streak that rivaled his own after all – and now he had to focus on covering his arse. He really didn't enjoy the possibility of spending the rest of his life on the couch.

"I realise you dislike Albus more than I do, but perhaps you're stretching things a bit too far."

She glared at him; she was lovely when she was angry. He realised now was probably not the best time to be smiling soppily at her.

"Severus Avernus Snape!"

He did wince at that. Another post-coital confession he was going to be made to regret.

"It's not as though he was ever planning _your_ death, dear."

"Are you forgetting that little incident in my sixth year with the bewitched suit of armor?"

Oh.

That had been rather amusing, truth be told. It had chased her around the castle wielding a large broadsword and had been impervious to most charms. If he remembered correctly, it had taken Flitwick several laps around the Quidditch pitch and thirty minutes of watching counter-charms bounce off the thing before it was finally put down.

They hadn't been able to prove it at the time, but he was pretty sure it had come from Lucius' collection.

Snape stayed quiet. Maybe if he didn't say anything too damning she would take his silence to mean contrition.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and seemed to be trying to come to a decision. She had gotten better at staring her subjects into submission – generally a skill he appreciated having in one's arsenal, so long as it wasn't turned on him. It was undoubtedly a result of teaching Ancient Runes to incompetent students for two years now.

If you can't beat them, scare them into submission.

Her look softened, and for that Snape was grateful. Another few moments and he would have been confessing all his sins - real and imagined.

"If you're not trying to take over the world, what do you and Malfoy and all of your other Death Eater cronies talk about?"

He shifted and tried to formulate an answer that wouldn't leave him hexed and alone tonight.

How does one explain to one's already angry girlfriend that blokes needed to be blokes? They had sports to talk and conquests to gloat over. With all that nasty war business finished it left them with plenty of time to make up for twenty years of lost gossip. Not that they would call it that, mind. They had a reputation to maintain after all.

They all had two sets of robes that had come with the free tattoo. One, far more sinister looking, and made of a sleek black material that resembled snakeskin. It was more for practical considerations than any serpentine fixation the Dark Lord had; blood and dirt never showed and wiped right off. The second set was Lucius' doing. They were of much finer quality and suitable for the more refined pureblood gatherings. They had, as one might imagine, seen far less use while Voldemort had still held their chains. Now that wearing the others was frowned upon – for the obvious reasons – they had ample opportunity to dust the nicer ones off and get their Galleon's worth.

Plus, they went over very well with the ladies.

Though sadly, between Narcissa and Hermione, they rarely had the chance to use them to that effect.

Not ones to let them go to waste, he and Malfoy and Rookwood and Darcy (and whoever else hadn't landed themselves in Azkaban) met once a week to wear their best robes and drink Lucius' brandy.

Or tea, as the case may be.

It gave them the chance to let their hair down and gab... er... talk of manly things (not counting Lucius' unhealthy fixation with tapestries). All of which led him, in one of his more inebriated moments, to think of them as tea parties. That's what they were after all. They put on their prettiest clothes and sat around drinking what have you and chatting in a very civilised manner. Darcy, in particular, had a fancy for biscuits and finger sandwiches. All that was necessary to complete the image were hats. But, alas, wearing them would ruin Lord Malfoy's coiffure.

Snape had decided that peacetime brought out his appreciation of the absurd.

He sighed to himself. Not even under threat of Crucio would he have admitted as much to Lucius. But Hermione's breasts had powers no mortal man could withstand. It was dreadfully unfair to him when he had no defences against them and no way to turn the tables on her.

"Do I ask you what you and the Wonder Twins do on the weekends?" He had sounded snippier than he intended, but he was going to cling to his one… his other little piece of happiness with both hands. Surprisingly, Hermione hadn't taken offense. Warning sirens had begun to sound in his head. She ought to be shouting at him. She ought to be boxing his ears.

"You're right. I'm sorry Severus. You have every right to spend time with your friends and I was wrong to question your motives."

Snape blinked. She couldn't have possibly said that, could she? Isn't that what every wizard hopes he'll hear from his witch? He was getting older; maybe his hearing was going.

He had looked down at Hermione who smoothed his cloak over his shoulders and looked every bit as penitent as he was sure she was not. She smiled and gave him a kiss before excusing herself to deal with a detention.

Something was wrong. Who was this person and what had they done with his Hermione?

He hadn't figured out just how much trouble he was in until today when he left for their Tuesday get-together. He had arrived at Malfoy Manor as usual and was shown into one of the studies by a house-elf.

"Severus!" They had greeted him with more vigour than usual, which immediately put him on his guard.

He was a Slytherin, and suspicion came as naturally to him as, say, hair care did to a Malfoy. It was the way of the universe. Hard coded in his bones. And no amount of peace or evenings free from twinkling headmasters would be able to change that.

That being said, a room full of jolly ex-Death Eaters made him glance around nervously. Hermione's conciliatory attitude the past four days had also done nothing to dissuade him of this sense of impending doom.

He stood in a den of snakes, all of whom were smiling and slapping him on the back, and his mind was unable to process these bizarre sets of circumstances. Dear Gods, he must be dying. That was the only explanation for it. Hermione, love of his life, finally reached the end of her rope and poisoned him.

Well they had a good run, and if he was going to die at least he was wearing his best robes.

And maybe he could even get a drink or two of Lucius' good brandy.

"Congratulations, Severus," came Lucius' insouciant voice. "She gave us the good news."

She? She who? Snape's mind was still contemplating whom he wanted to have give his eulogy to recognise that Lucius was not offering his condolences.

"Didn't think you had it in you, old man."

"Better you than me, mate."

Snape's confusion must have shown on his face because Lucius put a glass in his hand. The rest of the room turned to him with their own raised in a toast.

"To Severus – may he have a long and happy marriage."

Snape had choked on the whiskey as he was graced with another round of cheers.


	2. Part 2

AN: Here is some more silliness. A chance to enjoy a besotted, prudish Snape and stretch my wings to bring in all those lovely characters I tend to ignore. (FF . net getting this first. It'll appear in the usual places later.)

* * *

**Part 2  
**  
Snape clinked his spoon around his cup sulkily. 

"What do you think of the tea? One of my more scurrilous contacts in Madagascar was able to procure a few extra grams for me."

Snape listened to Lucius prattle on when all he really wanted was a good stiff drink and to go home.

"The Ministry has an embargo on it, which is just ridiculous, but when has that ever stopped me?"

Maybe Albus would let him go on sabbatical, no questions asked. Then he could quietly slip away and find someplace that was dark, empty and had a fully stocked bar.

"I saw that, Severus. Put the bottle down; you're not getting drunk tonight."

It seemed that tonight was to be a dry affair (perhaps the first such one in the history of Malfoy Manor). Once Snape had stopped choking, he had sculled the rest of his whiskey only to have Lucius promptly remove the glass from his hand and replace it with a teacup. To make matters worse, he was convinced Lucius had put wards on each and every bottle. Every time Snape had reached for one tonight, Lucius had been there to pry it out of his fingers.

"Now, Severus, your fiancée told us we had a lot to plan and she wanted you back tonight sober," Lucius had said.

All three of them had then leered at Snape in a way that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Whatever they were thinking about him, Hermione, and any number of perversions was completely untrue. Thank the Gods he couldn't perform wandless Legilimency; he had no desire to know what unnatural acts his friends were capable of envisioning.

He wasn't sure who he wanted to strangle more at that moment, Lucius or Hermione, but he was quite sure neither one of them was going to get a shag after this.

"But you only get engaged once-"

"-unless you're Darcy here-"

"-so we couldn't let it go without giving you a drink, isn't that right?"

_A_ drink? He needed several. And what was that about planning?

"We'll have it here, of course. It's been so long since the manor had been put to any use. Well… _good_ use," Lucius drawled.

Only his darling Hermione could have simultaneously sapped all the fun from his one hobby _and_ deprived him of the alcohol which could have seen him through this dreadful evening.

"She's a mud– Muggle-born, eh? What are you going to do with her relations?"

Lucius' face contorted in disgust. Severus could just imagine the thoughts running through the blond head. Muggles roaming his house freely? How… unsavory.

"We'll make do, I suppose. I'll have to take down some of the nastier anti-Muggle wards. I'd rather avoid being hexed by the bride when half of the wedding party disappears."

Engaged? They were engaged? He couldn't quite comprehend the idea. Hermione never mentioned this to him before; he hadn't thought her the marrying type. Snape frowned. Even stranger, it would appear Lucius had appointed himself wedding planner.

Maybe the devious little minx was having him on.

Ah. There. His Slytherin survival instincts began to kick in.

"Did she mention how I proposed?"

Gather information; assess the severity of the situation; initiate counter-measures. Check.

His satisfaction faded when the question was met with three identical smirks. Snape paled. Certainly Hermione hadn't told them they had been er… intimate at the time, had she? This was simply too mortifying for words.

"Normally, something like that would have had us worried, Severus. After all, it was hardly your traditionally subtle approach."

"But then we remembered she was a Gryffindor, who aren't known for being the brightest bunch. The lot of them have all the subtlety of a swarm of rogue Bludgers."

"And Muggle-born," Lucius agreed. "If I had done that to Narcissa, her father would have had my balls."

Despite the relief Snape felt when he realised that they had, in fact, not been in bed when he was supposed to have proposed, nothing they were saying was doing anything to slow his steady dissolution into hysterics.

"And of course," Darcy snorted, "she could hardly say no to you while a great bleeding enchanted sign saying 'marry me' was hanging in the Great Hall." Snape, who had just taken a mouthful of tea, spluttered as Darcy once again clapped him on the back.

She just _couldn't_ have. Gods, in the Great Hall. It meant everyone had seen.

Minerva was never going to let him live this down.

His friends look torn between amusement and exasperation.

"Who'd have thought, Sev, that you'd be the one to go arse over teakettle for a witch?"

"At least we can rest easy knowing you didn't knock her up – Potions master and all that."

"Quite. A pregnant bride is always such a distraction at weddings."

Sweet Merlin! Where was a Dark Lord when you needed one? Bloody inconvenient as he had been, Voldemort had at least provided the occasional excuse to flee embarrassing situations without question.

This _certainly_ qualified as one of them.

Unfortunately, Snape might have been able to convince Dumbledore that there was a new Dark Lord rising and that he was desperately needed elsewhere, but Snape doubted that three former Death Eaters would buy it. There was nothing for it, Snape supposed. He would have to swallow his pride and lie his way out.

He just hoped he wouldn't blush while he said it.

He set the teacup down and stood. Snape tugged awkwardly on the sleeves of his robe and ignored the inquisitive stares of his friends.

"I must be getting back," he said, disappointed in the stutter. If the Gods were on his side tonight, innuendo would be enough and he wouldn't actually have to mention The Sex.

He dared to glance up and instantly regretted it. Darcy leered at him. Rookwood snickered. Lucius, however, looked vaguely disappointed, which was very disconcerting, but Snape was in no fit state to speculate as to the reason why.

"Must you?"

"Let him go, Lucius. Can't you see the poor sod's eager to get home?"

"You know what they say about Gryffindors: what they lack in sense, they make up for in enthusiasm," Rookwood cackled at his own wit.

Snape knew he was blushing, not half because he agreed with the sentiment. Hermione was… was, well, nothing he was going to mention if he ever wanted hope of sleeping with her again.

He frowned. Which he didn't, because he was _not_ going to give in to her wiles after this.

"But we have so much to plan." Lucius tried again, pouting.

"Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen." Snape raised an eyebrow and gave a half bow to the room. He maintained his composure until he was in the hall and then fled – sod dignity – for the safety of Hogwarts, their laughter ringing in his ears.

But once he had Apparated and reached the main gates, he was flummoxed. He had never been a lucky man, so the chance of him getting across the grounds, through the corridors, and into his rooms without bumping into anyone – anyone, of course, being Hermione, Albus, and the entirety of the student body – was nil.

It was _not_ going to happen. Especially given the likelihood that the whole school knew what Hermione had done and was lying in wait for him. He was loath to imagine the sort of gossip that was already spreading. There was a chance, however slim, that the nastiness of school children would not be nearly as awful as the snickering tittle-tattle of grown men.

Snape sighed. Maybe he could just curl up in the Dark Forest for the night. The thought of angry centaurs trampling him as he slept hardly seemed the worst of all evils. There was always the Three Broomsticks… _Ah!_

His memory was a little slow tonight, but it kicked in when it counted.

He patted down the pockets of his robes, but came up empty handed. Drat, he stopped carrying it once his tenure as a spy came to an end. Snape hadn't seen the need to have a way to get to and from his rooms in secret anymore and had foregone packing a Portkey along with his wand.

With a despondent groan, Snape thunked his forehead against the metal gates.

_Snap out of it, old man. You've faced worse._

This was all too true. Bellatrix trying to cop a feel at Lucius' Christmas party in '79 had been much, much worse. But all that had been required to extricate himself from that situation was a quick _Stupefy_, and then to deposit her in Avery's lap as punishment.

The incident did go a long way to explaining their antagonism in later years.

"Fang! Yeh alrigh', Fang?"

Snape heard the not-so-distant sound of yelping.

"Yeh smell sommat out there, boy?"

That, if nothing else, prompted Snape to get a move on. Suddenly the thought being crushed by the half-giant in an overabundance of bonhomie was quite possibly the worst possible ending of an already miserable night.

Quite forgetting himself, Snape _ran_.

Upon reaching the side entrance, he impatiently flicked the hair out of his face and caught his breath. He glanced down the darkened hallway for any sign of life and warred with himself over his next move.

Turn left and he would be in the safety of his rooms – heavily warded – and within arm's reach of alcohol.

Turn right and he would be able to see the evidence of his beloved's scheming without witnesses.

Stay where he was and some rule-breaking student was bound to happen upon him.

He heard one of the sleeping portraits nearby stir.

Right he went.

The Great Hall was not quite on the other end of the school, but it was a close thing. He lurked in the shadows, darted across lit hallways, and felt his wand arm twitch each time he heard a noise.

By the time he had reached the large double doors, Snape had come to the conclusion that being affianced was even more perilous than being a spy had ever been.

He pushed the doors open – without his usual flare – and stopped dead in his tracks.

_Sweet Circe, she actually did it._

Suspended fifteen feet above the High Table was a large, red and gold banner reading:

**Hermione,**

**I love you. Marry me.**

**Severus.**

**  
**


	3. Part 3

AN: Severus is feeling a trifle poorly here, bless. 

Chapter 5 of A Hundred Years from Yesterday will be posted as soon as I'm done editing it.

* * *

**Part 3**

The next day Severus awoke to a nauseating pounding. 

At first he thought it was merely his brain's futile attempt to escape from his skull and the large quantity of Firewhiskey he had consumed the night before. He didn't blame it; his insides were heaving and his mouth felt as though he had spent the night trying to eat his pillow rather than hide underneath it. Even though he knew he was stuck in corporeal form, he wasn't going to begrudge any effort made on the part of his anatomy, however hopeless it would be.

The pounding subsided, leaving Severus to offer up thanks to the patron saint of hangovers and burrow further into the bedding.

A moment later he felt the pounding return, accompanied this time by the distinct feeling that his pillow was vibrating.

"Severus?"

He pulled the quilt up further – coincidentally dislodging the Half-Kneazle that had made his bed atop Severus' head – and nearly sobbed. The last thing he needed this morning was to be clawed to death by his darling's beast of a familiar while the lady herself shouted at him. Maybe she would get it over with quickly and then spend the rest of the morning doting on him in his delicate state.

She had probably cleared up that marriage nonsense by herself, regardless.

"Severus, open the door this minute." He heard the muffled sound of cursing and a muttered: "Merlin knows how you can cast wards this strong when you're pissed."

He figured it was prudent to let Hermione in before she blasted the door down – something that was sure to not help his headache at all – and groped around the bed for his wand. All he received for his troubles was a handful of unhappy fur, a sharp nip, and no sign of his wand anywhere.

He was doomed.

Severus abandoned his search and slumped back on the bed to await his fate. The room was spinning far too much for him to put effort into anything apart from not being sick. She was going to find a way in, most probably to shout at him, and not moving seemed to minimize the risk to his person. One decided perk of being in a relationship with a brilliant witch was that she could manage to break your wards herself and save you from stumbling across the room in a state of dishabille.

After all, she wouldn't hex him if he was on his death bed, would she?

"Good morning, Severus."

He gave a loving grunt in response.

"Were you drinking? I told Lucius not to let you because we were all out of hangover relief. Did he forget to mention that?"

He had.

The Slytherin part of his brain – usually on constant alert for any sign of potential danger – had been drugged into a stupor. But still, it was not so far gone to not know something wasn't quite adding up. Severus had a fuzzy recollection of brewing a cauldron full of that sort of potion a few days ago.

As though she read his mind, Hermione said, "The last batch you made was contaminated. I wonder how that could have happened."

_One wonders._

He was rapidly losing the fantasy of tea and toast and fingers running through his hair.

The orange mass was promptly removed from his head and the mattress dipped with the familiar weight of Hermione. He fought the urge to roll over and cuddle up to it until he found out what she was up to. She was using that tone of voice when she was being sneaky, or when he was about to be shouted out, and had learned to prepare himself accordingly.

He felt the comforting safety of the pillow desert him; but, before he could mourn its loss, he felt more familiar fingers brush the hair away from his face. _One down…_

He managed a half-hearted smile before Hermione stood and began to tidy the room.

"How did your wand get in the tea pot, Severus?"

He gave another grunt in response and left Hermione to fish it out and clean it off on her sleeve. He couldn't remember making tea in the bedroom any time in the last week, or why his wand would have been anywhere near it. The brief attempt at analytical thought was too much of a strain this early in the morning – or any time of day really – after a night in which he had drank his weight in alcohol. He winced and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead and willed the pain to recede.

"I thought you might like to sleep in, but we're having breakfast with Albus and Minerva this morning."

She paused in her efforts to reorganize his desk into accordance with her own logic, and walked over to pull the blinds back. An unfeeling, cruel beam of light shone directly into his eyes. He rolled over to shield his face.

The woman was wicked. Very, very wicked. There was no reason for him to be sociable today. It was some sort of holiday, most likely one the Headmaster had invented on a whim, and Snape had intended to take full advantage of it.

Hermione, apparently, didn't agree, and had made other plans for his poor suffering self this day.

The mattress dipped again and Severus opened his eyes. Hermione was smiling at him tenderly and wearing his favourite robes. The robes she wore for their first date. A date he had spent most of in the occupation of staring at her breasts. Lovely breasts. Hmm. He knew he looked pitiful. Maybe if he appeared to be making an effort she would feed him a bit of toast. Or at least let him rest his head against her chest… shoulder... chest.

Slowly, he managed to lever himself into a sitting position against the headboard. The room spun, but mercifully his stomach was now sturdy enough to compensate. This seemed to please his girlfriend, who leaned forward to brave his morning breath and grant him a kiss.

_Mmmm._

Not quite what he was expecting but a victory nonetheless. Severus reached out to pull her down into his lap and continue this rather pleasurable activity, but felt her slip away, outsmarted handily in his hung-over state.

"As lovely as that would be, Severus, you are in desperate need of a toothbrush. Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll see about some tea, hmm?"

His hind-brain and Slytherin-brain seemed to be in accord and were willing to take that bargain; if only in the hopes that once he was a bit more aromatic, Hermione would be far more willing to take advantage of him.

That sounded sensible to him. Tea and Hermione and the terribly unfortunate side effect of missing their breakfast appointment.

_Right-oh._

Thoughts of marmalade and cream coloured skin kept him company as he shuffled his way into the bathroom.

Ablutions performed and mouth minty-fresh, Snape returned and was quite mystified to see Hermione in her traveling cloak and readying the fireplace.

Clearly befuddled, and still a tad groggy, his forthcoming questions were forestalled by Hermione kissing him again. And tasting of tea. When she had not offered him a cup.

Severus frowned in confusion.

"I'm sorry about the lack of tea, but I didn't realise how late it was." She reached up to finish buttoning the last few near his collar. "Now, they're waiting for you -"

"For us."

Hermione shook her head.

"For you," she corrected. "I forgot I was supposed to meet Ginny today when I told Minerva and Albus we would come. You three have fun catching up and I'll see you later tonight."

Snape blinked. Taking advantage of his momentary hesitation, Hermione tossed the Floo powder into flames and pushed a surprisingly unresisting Severus through and into the Headmaster's office.

"Severus!"

The chorus that welcomed him was oddly reminiscent of the night before. Having experienced it once, it was more than enough to set his teeth on edge. But the splitting headache was hardly the worst implication of such heartiness.

He knew what it meant.

He really was engaged.

Somehow Hermione had managed to outmaneuver him, Head of Slytherin and consummate master of double-dealing, twice in two days. He didn't believe for a moment that it was coincidence that saw her out and about and absent from what was sure to be Congratulations and a round or two of Twenty Questions about their Sex Life.

"Come in! Have a seat, Severus. Kipper?"

Snape shook his head quickly – before his stomach could mutiny over the thought of fish – and took a seat. He tried to avoid the smell of food, and the obnoxious way Minerva always tried to pile an extra serving or two on his plate. He did however leap gratefully at the offer of tea.

"When we didn't see you last night, we were worried Hermione might not have accepted. It would be so like you to go sulk in your rooms, after all."

"No, there's no need to glare, my boy. Hermione quickly set us right when she saw Minerva after dinner."

"We thought you two might have needed a little time alone to… celebrate."

There was a tiny crash and the subsequent removal of tea from his person after Severus dropped his cup in shock. It was one thing to put up with _those_ sorts of comments from his reprobate friends, it was quite another to hear Minerva say it with such approval _and_ feel her squeeze his knee affectionately.

Neither of them said anything in the face of such a flustered Severus, but both twinkled in their own knowing way about young love.

"It will be such a shame to take the banner down," Albus said wistfully. "The Great Hall could use a hint of colour. Perhaps we could charm it to announce their engagement."

Minerva rolled her eyes as she sliced through a tomato.

"Only you would call the adornments here bland. You shall have to content yourself with waiting until the happy day arrives, because until then the decorations stay down."

"No."

Both sets of eyes looked up, astonished that Severus had actually contributed to the conversation, let alone contradicted them.

"I am not having my wedding anywhere at Hogwarts," Snape snarled, more viciously than he had intended.

"Goodness gracious me."

"My word, Severus."

He took a deep breath and held up a hand. "Don't. I have no intention of having the entire student body in attendance."

He was met by two, frankly disbelieving, stares.

"Why ever not?"

"Where else would you have it? Don't tell me you want it at that house of yours. It's practically dilapidated, Severus, and certainly not fit for a wedding," Minerva said, mouth turning down into a moue of disapproval.

Somewhere between his second piece of toast and the throbbing in his head lifting, his brain may not have resigned itself completely to the thought of marriage, but it had enough sense to know that he ought to prepare for the eventuality. And that meant heading off the two Gryffindor busy-bodies before they built up too much momentum.

The rest would come out in the wash.

Severus shrugged. "Lucius would most likely be amenable to the suggestion of playing host for the fete."

Dumbledore's face took on a pinched look and Minerva very discreetly cleared her throat. There was a rather pregnant silence wherein he sliced into a bit of melon.

Besides, any glee Severus would be able to take from watching Albus force himself to be civil around Malfoy was purely incidental.

Truly.

Breakfast continued along more mundane lines as the food was slowly consumed. Student infractions, House points, Quidditch.

Not another mention of the wedding was made, though Severus should have known better than to gloat when he did not have his wits about him. His smug look faded when Albus let the other shoe drop.

"When are you meeting her parents?"


	4. Part 4

**Part 4**

Lucius turned the page to show Severus the next design.

"Can you believe Muggles do these ice sculptures by hand?" He shook his head. "Such a waste of effort when a house-elf can manage in much less time."

Severus sat, ignoring his tea, with his head in his hands as Lucius spread more of the wedding designs across the garden table. Ice sculptures, champagne fountains, centrepieces, cake plateaus. Pages and pages of designs – most of which looked hand drawn (something about Lucius he had no intention of putting any thought towards).

Who knew there were _books_ on wedding planning? Or that Lucius would have an entire floor-to-ceiling case full of them?

"The griffon is a tad gauche, but you're daft enough to marry a Gryffindor that you may well disagree."

He had tried, when the books, diagrams and photographs first appeared, to appeal to Lucius' sense of decorum and refuse such frippery outright. But Lucius had sulked, and somehow Severus found himself quite unable to snarl at the man to get a hold of himself.

He really was losing his edge.

And the plans kept coming.

"It would be so nice to have the wedding out here," Lucius said wistfully.

"No."

"I know you have an aversion to natural light, but an indoor wedding is so dour."

"No."

"Severus, truculence may be in your nature, but do make an effort to think of your fiancée. You do remember she will be the other half in the ceremony, yes?"

"Hermione would agree with me." She would. She _had_ to. Severus had no intention of plodding through dew-covered grass, amidst Lucius' atrocious rose garden, in order to stand under some canopy surrounded by a ridiculous number of floral arrangements. No matter how many times the world 'tasteful' was used in conjunction with 'enchanted doves' there was no force great enough to convince Severus to agree.

"Simply because the girl has all the Quidditch prowess of a half-lame, hobbled sparrow does not mean she wishes to abide by your cloistered, sepulchral vision of the happiest day of her life."

"I rather thought that day would have been when Voldemort was defeated and she kicked in your teeth."

Severus did what he could to hide his smug grin as Lucius winced and did a cursory check with his tongue to ensure that his mouth was in order.

"Yes, well, I still think we should put the question to her."

"I'll be sure to do that when I get home."

The smile Lucius gave him was predatory.

"No need for that, old man. She's here. After all, we wouldn't want you to forget the salient details."

"Here?"

Hermione? Here? At Malfoy Manor? Why would she be here? There was no reason for his Hermione to be anywhere near Lucius. Besides, she loathed him, and those whom she loathed rarely escaped meeting her without exhibiting visible signs of struggle.

"Indeed. She arrived shortly before you did."

A befuddled Severus let himself be lead back inside and to one of the drawing rooms. He ought to have known this before hand. If not from Lucius, then Hermione, herself.

"Voluntarily?" He had to ask.

Lucius affected a look of casual disdain.

"I'll have you know I am a reformed and law-abiding member of wizarding society." To prove the point, Lucius refrained from knocking a house-elf out of the way with his cane. "I haven't kidnapped anyone in… oh… what? Two, three years now?"

Severus came to a dead stop at seeing Narcissa and Hermione chatting amiably over tea.

"Lucius?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"Why is your wife talking to my fiancée?"

"It would seem Miss Granger wanted the advice of a pureblood witch in regards to your nuptials."

"But…" Severus stammered, "the last time we left them in a room together they hexed each other to the point that they had to spend three weeks in St. Mungo's."

Lucius nodded slowly. "What was that? Four months ago?"

"They were unconscious for a week."

"It took the healers that long to figure out the counterspells to a number of the curses your Muggleborn intended used." Lucius peered sideways at Severus. "Yours, I presume?"

"I admit nothing," except an overwhelming sense of pride in the capabilities of his then-girlfriend. That had nothing to do with the current scene being played out before him.

The sight of his Hermione tittering over her hostess in a distinctly un-Hermione-like manner was… unnerving.

Merlin's balls. "Are they looking at dishes?"

"They're place settings, Severus, really," Lucius corrected in the manner of one addressing a particularly slow first year. "I needed an answer on the design before I could order the flower arrangements."

Severus stared at the man as though he had sprouted a second, red-eyed head. What possible correlation could florists have with china? Did he…? No. He was mostly sure he was not going to ask because he did not want to be able to answer such a question in the future.

But Lucius, being Lucius, noted the vacant stare of the perplexed.

"The entire palette of the wedding depends on the place settings. Without it, my hands are truly tied and I cannot plan a single thing," Lucius said, exasperated. The sulk was making a comeback.

No planning without the dishes? This sounded appealing. If Hermione were distracted from the task, Severus would not have to return to making decisions with Lucius in the garden. Very, very appealing. So much so, in fact, he was willing to brave the tempest and interrupt his fiancée's frightening tête-à-tête with Narcissa, no matter how oddly she was behaving.

Relying on the time-honoured element of surprise, Severus swept into the drawing room in full flutter.

"Severus!" The ladies chorused. Sweet Merlin on a broomstick, they managed to use the same earsplitting pitch.

"Narcissa. Hermione," he greeted. Severus leaned down to kiss Hermione in welcome. He reasoned that kissing in public would be allowed in this situation because, really, it was the only way he would find out if this person were an imposter impersonating Hermione. It was definitely not a ploy, in any way, to settle his nerves and get a bit of female reassurance.

Definitely not.

_Mmmm._

Well, maybe a little.

"I was hoping Lucius would let you in some time. I simply cannot decide which of these I prefer. Narcissa tells me it's tacky to have gold leaf in the setting, but I'm rather fond of it. What do you think?"

"Er."

"Oh Severus, you simply must convince her. The silver filigree is so much more tasteful. If you pick the gold, Lucius will be furious at me for limiting his colour choices."

"Er."

"What would _you_ like, Severus?" Hermione's hand had snaked out and come to rest on his hip, and was now rubbing delicate circles against the fabric. He knew he was being cajoled – he really liked the robes she was wearing, especially from this height – but he was being asked his opinion for once, and so he felt compelled to contribute.

"Er. Can't we have something… plain and," _make a concession, quickly,_ "white?"

See? He was flexible. The dishes could be white.

The three other people in the room (and one scampering house-elf) frowned in dismay. He felt the comforting hand of Hermione drop away with a sigh. Severus had clearly failed some sort of husband-to-be test.

"I suppose you're right, Narcissa. We'll take the filigree."

"Excellent," Lucius said, pausing momentarily before going for the kill. "Severus also has a few details he would like your opinion on."

Damn.

Severus gritted his teeth. "Lucius would like the ceremony to be held out in the garden."

Much to his consternation, the eyes of the females in the room became misty. What could possibly bring tears to their eyes about having a wedding on the bleeding grass? Except for allergies, of course, but Severus didn't think pollen could have such an effect while still indoors.

"Oh Lucius, that would be lovely."

Hermione put a hand to her heart and smiled at him. Oh dear, he was going to give in because he was wont to say anything to give her cause to stop gazing at him adoringly.

Shit.

"I also suggested we put up a canopy –"

"With the Acromantula silk?"

Lucius smiled at his wife. "Exactly what I was going to suggest, my dear."

The Malfoys shared a moment of haute couture cum matrimonial bliss. Severus bit back a snarl that it was _his_ wedding, not theirs, and there would be no… oh. His train of thought was derailed as Hermione threaded her fingers through his and stood up. Her free hand came up and settled on his chest.

"I know you have an aversion to roses, but we could charm them a different colour. One not as unappealing as pink or apricot." Hermione smiled.

Before he could acknowledge the horror of anything pink residing in his proximity, Severus noticed he was nodding and smiling in a decidedly pleased fashion. He was definitely unwell. Perhaps he ought to check himself into St. Mungo's for an extended convalescence.

"Tomorrow is Tuesday. Narcissa agreed to share the secret of her seamstress and to help me look at dresses while you are busy."

Busy Tuesday? Oh right. Tea party. An evening free of decisions beyond: 'Which bottle of Lucius' alcohol was he going to swim his way through?' If he could not see a healer to fix whatever damage had been done to his mind that had convinced him to agree to any of this ridiculousness, then he would take a hefty dose of medicinal libations.

Hermione glanced back at their hosts who were now caught in an amorous embrace. "I think it's our best chance to escape. I don't care to find out what the mention of serving trays will do to them."

Grateful for the reemergence of the witch he recognised, Snape quickly gathered Hermione up and Apparated back to the safety of Hogwarts. Severus (and his heart) had been much younger when they had been capable of dealing with the shock of finding Lucius and Narcissa in compromising situations. Few would believe it, but no one was more pleased than Severus was when Draco came into the world. The Malfoys comported themselves with a fair degree of dignity once blessed with a child underfoot, and aside from what Severus saw in the bog of the pub at their twentieth wedding anniversary, had spared him the humiliation of rediscovering just how flexible his friends could be, given the right provocation.

Third year Ravenclaws heading back from Hogsmeade, however, were obliged to compensate. The two girls stopped when they saw Severus with his arms still around Hermione and began to giggle behind their hands. Even the twin glares both professors leveled on them resulted in Miss Ashford and Miss Weatherby sighing at the romance of it all and scurrying away with their heads bowed together. The news of the display of affection on the part of the two most feared faculty members would quickly spread through the rest of the school.

Gossip tripled when the next day saw the deduction of only fifteen points from Ravenclaw.


End file.
